


I Already Know What You Want

by fingersfallingupwards



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, F/M, Gen, Kink Meme, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3028793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingersfallingupwards/pseuds/fingersfallingupwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Gamora share something in common- they've both been sexually assaulted in the past. The main difference is that Gamora understands what happened was wrong, and Peter, well he's still in denial something happened at all. Due to the assault, neither wants sex. </p>
<p>Peter sees this as a weakness, and covers it up with countless nights with nameless women. That's about to end when Gamora enters the picture and changes everything. She sees through all his masks, but struggles to accept what she sees. Because men want sex, don't they? Still, she decides to reach out and try to understand. Peter doubts Gamora's intentions, because women only want one thing from him and it isn't his conversational skills. Besides, women want sex, right?</p>
<p>Asexual!Gamora Asexual!Peter</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Already Know How You Think

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme for Asexual romance thing. I can post the link if you like. This version is much, much cleaner. The start is pretty damn abrupt, but I'm over eager to get to the exciting parts. Sorry~

Gamora can tell when Peter’s watching her. His eyes follow her around the ship from time to time, when he thinks that no one is paying attention. But she notices. Of course she does. Years on the battlefield and years around her ‘family’ have taught her to always be aware of her surroundings no matter how comfortable she is.

It was a lesson driven home on Delphon, when she lost a fight with three men and faced dire consequences. She doesn't talk about it. She doesn't think about it. The things they did disgust her even now to think about. Rage and shame still battle for the top spot in her mind. Thanos was the one to find her once they  . . . _finished._ He killed them with a deft backhand. Gamora supposes she should be honored he descended to use his actual hands to end her abusers, but most of the time she sits and stews in the regret that she could not be the ones to end them, and on the reminder of the difference in their strength.

“ _Gamora,”_ he said at the time, “ _I want you to remember your failings. Because this is your own fault. Such weakness. Never fall for their pathetic attacks again.”_

Covered in mud, barely clothed, and aching all over, she promised him and herself there would never be a repeat incident. Nebula thankfully appeared on the scene shortly after and helped her in a more practical way.

Maybe Thanos’ words make it easier for Gamora to understand that it wasn’t her fault at all. Because Thanos lies and manipulates. Despite that, she still does bear the scars.

 The men _hurt_ her in a way she can never allow herself to be hurt again. There’s a nick in her being. She sometimes thinks it would all shatter, like the glass windows of buildings on the surface world. And she can’t let that happen. Not _ever_ again.

So she avoids men, when she can. She trains herself to be unbeatable to any but Thanos. Her tight outfits are for mobility only, and when men’s eyes wander unduly, she uses her new strength to threaten, and follow through when they don’t back off. It’s incredibly rewarding, and the closest thing to revenge she can get.

Peter though, stares at her constantly, like he’s doing now as they relax around _The Milano_. She’s sharpening her blade, and he’s feigning reading a book all while looking at her intently. And she finds she can’t bring herself to do anything about it, because she actually likes the Terran. He is her friend. The first one she’s had in perhaps her entire adult life. He’s a good friend too, reacquainting her with what genuine honest relationships are supposed to be like, putting all of their wellbeing’s above his own, smiling so easily, and just knowing how to talk to her. So many people have misunderstood her, jumped to conclusions. Not him. The kindness Peter tries to hide always shows itself in the vital situations, saving all of them from breaking into fights or falling into despair.

She did attack him the first time he tried to make a move on her. His attempt at pelvic sorcery didn’t go over well with her, and were they not acquaintances, (as she had thought of them as at the time,) he would have left their encounter with another souvenir wound to add to his collection.

Now it’s too late, because he’s wiggled his way into her heart, and she can barely stand the thought of hurting him.

So as he traces her figure with those longing looks, she does nothing, and continues hoping he won’t act on the urges and make her respond. Because she won’t. No matter how much she likes him as a friend, she will never have sex with him.

She can’t expect him to understand. How could he?

He’ll never understand what a _hurt_ like thatfeels like, and what it does to a person.

 

+

 

Peter stares at Gamora. A lot. He knows it seems a little creepy, but he can’t help himself. She’s a woman unlike any other he’s met. Wonderfully strong, unabashed, unafraid, and yet passionate and caring. She’s deep. Nothing like the other women he’s used to dealing with. Even after only knowing her for a week, their relationship was something far deeper than it had ever gotten, even with that girl he had along with him for half a year when he was on the run from Yondu. Now three months after first meeting Gamora he feels stability that he didn’t know could even exist.

Her quirks certainly make her harder to deal with, especially the stabbing, violent ones, but he thinks it’s a good thing that she’s not like other women.

Because other women all want the same thing from Peter Quill. And it starts with and ‘s’ and ends with an ‘ex’ and he hates it. No he doesn’t. Yes he does. No— Peter’s conflicted. He knows he’s supposed to like sex. Everyone likes sex. It’s a _thing._ Space is blackish, Ravagers are bastards, and sex is good. For some reason, Peter’s always missed the last concept somehow.

Because sex is fine, but it’s just fine. He doesn’t crave it, the way other men he knows do. He doesn’t even enjoy it all that much. He just does it because he knows he’s supposed to. Perfunctory, practiced behavior.

All he really wants from a woman is closeness. But that isn’t what they want from him.

He’s attractive, and when they talk to him all coy and coquettish, he knows what they want him for, and it’s not his conversational skills and it’s not for the reasons he wants them.

They don’t want him to braid their hair, to lie next to them and say nothing, to sleep in each other’s arms just because.

Women want sex.

And Peter can’t bear to be an abnormality, to be seen as incapable. So he finds women and has sex.

Because he just can’t bear the loneliness.

Joining his new crew has to be one of the best things that’s happened to him in a long, long time. He gets a family-ish vibe from them, something he’d sort of forgotten.

But still. He’s on a ship with four other people. And yet he still wants something closer.

And he thinks his answer is Gamora.

Their relationship is different.

She calls his bluffs, rolls her eyes kindly at his quirks, and keeps him honest with nothing more than a believing look in her eyes. She’s— wonderful. He likes Gamora a lot. That’s sort of the problem. Because he wants to get to know her better.

Getting close to women is tricky for Peter, because so quickly his flirty nature gets him either into trouble with women, or in bed with them. Neither is what he really _wants._

But it’s a natural female reaction. Peter is attractive. He gets that, really he does. But it does get frustrating when he’s exhausted and all he wants is to find someone to wrap his arms around, or to lie beside. That’s never really been an option for him.

Obviously, Gamora, like every other woman, will want sex if he isn’t careful about how he gets to know her. Already he worries it’s too late. She looks at him sometimes, with more heat in her gaze and he sees the signs.

And maybe it will end up badly, and he’ll end up sleeping with her and ruin one of the best relationships he’s had in a long time, but if it’ll let him get close to her, let him touch her hair, he thinks it would be worth it.

He wants that closeness— _needs_ that closeness. Because without it he feels empty. It’s been a while since he’s had any intimacy with a woman. Three months or so, because now _the Milano_ isn’t only his ship anymore. It’s their ship. Remaining chaste for three months is a piece of cake. The intimacy he misses.

Peter wonders if it’s possible to toe the line of their friendship, maybe ask for a little more, and then pass it off as a casual friend-thing. Gamora herself will admit that she doesn’t know that much on the subject anyways, so maybe he could get away with it. His friend likely wouldn’t reject him or anything. Gamora is compassionate, probably the most compassionate of them all, sans Groot. Her eyes when she spoke about Xandar’s imminent destruction were filled with such raw emothion that he shudders a little to remember. So much pain . . .

The Terran wishes he could be someone she would feel comfortable going to if something was wrong, if she was struggling with her past demons and regrets. She deserves some peace after everything she’s been through, (and he only knows a fraction of the story but it’s more than enough.)

Doubt hovers in his mind, but he can also imagine what it would be like if he succeeded, if he managed to move their relationship up a little. How _wonderful_ it would be to have someone to go to at the end of a long day. And in all his daydreams, it’s Gamora who plays the main role.

He wants it. Badly. The only question is how best he can go about it. There is a simple way, very nonsexual yet intimate. Admittedly he’d used this method before to flirt, but it seemed like a good idea for the two of them. It’s a risk but—

All of a sudden he needs it too much. He can’t stop himself from standing, stepping towards her, and saying,

“Can I talk to you in my room for a sec?”

Rocket makes some appropriately immature ooh sounds and Peter shoots him an aggravated glare. He really doesn’t need that. He then sees the steel in Gamora’s eyes and he almost backs down. Almost. But he doesn’t because he can feel her so close.

He stands his ground, and is rewarded when she rises with a look of curiosity in her eyes.

And his chest cavity gets a little fuller.


	2. I Already Know What This Means

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamora gets a braid, and Peter gets a shock.

Peter is frustrating. Somehow, he manages to do exactly the opposite of what she wants, seemingly unknowingly. How he can be so unintentionally irritating, Gamora has no idea. The best theory she can come up with is an aberration in his DNA. Something extra special about him to make him extra annoying.

An invitation to his room for what she figures will be some one-on-one time is perhaps the last thing she wants from him. Because she _knows_ it’s a set-up for failure. Why couldn’t he just ask for a private word? Why does it have to be in his room, where she’s sure plenty of women have been before?

She stares at him long and hard, but he doesn’t flinch, nor look away, and she has no choice but to agree. With a small, tight nod Gamora rises and starts heading towards his room. Peter is quick to follow after.

Gamora hates the way Rocket, who’s seated on the metal floor tinkering with what she’s sure will soon be a weapon of mass destruction, snorts and says,

“ _Don’t add anything to the painting, I’ll know”—_ Which mean nothing to her, but everything to Peter who awkwardly waves Rocket’s words off.

“Whatever, Rocket. That’s none of your business anyways.”

After a few silent moments of walking Gamora enters his chambers and turns around anticipatorily. She’s careful to keep her posture calm as she watches Peter shut the door. He stares at it for a minute before turning to face her, an odd expression on his face. Her hand settles covertly on the knife attached to her thigh. The handle is cold and soothing in her grasp.

“What is it, Peter?” she asks. Her forward manner earns her a slightly uncomfortable look, and she’s pleased. Good. He should be. If he’s doing what she thinks he is—

“Y’know, you’re hair gets all over the place when you’re fighting.”

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Gamora blinks, stunned.

“Do you have a problem with my hair?”

“No, no, no,” he backpedals, “I just meant that it gets in your face sometimes, you know, when you’re stabbing people and kicking ass!”

“And?” she asks impatiently.

“I was just thinking that I could do something to help that, if you wanted me to.”

She’s confused, and also mildly offended by the entire situation.

“I am competent enough to put my hair up, Quill.”

Peter winces as he notices her use of his last name, like she hoped he would. She knows he’s aware it’s a sign to _back down._ Still, he does not quit.

“I didn’t mean a ponytail—“

“What is a ‘pony-tail’?” Gamora interrupts.

“When you put your hair up, that’s what they’re called on Terra.”

She wrinkles her nose. What an unpleasant sounding term.

“I want to braid your hair!” he blurts in a rush.

Gamora sees his cheeks flush, but she’s more confused than anything else.

“Braid?” she murmurs to herself.  “Peter, I know how to braid my own hair.”

“Yeah, but do you know other kinds of braids?” he asks. Gamora finds herself feeling more than a little bewildered by the entire conversation, and the latest turn does nothing to help.

“I do not know of any other kinds of braids,” she admits.

“They have tons on Terra. Can I show you?”

And there’s that pleading look in his eye, hiding behind his casual demeanor, that always accompanies the question of _Can I show you_. Gamora, Drax, Groot, and Rocket all earn this expression every now and again when he has something he wants to share with them and generally it’s all Terran stuff. Rocket mused to her once that the Ravagers must have repressed him a lot, and that’s why he’s so eager to share. Gamora knows better. He shares the things that matter with people he cares about. He’s showing them something about _himself,_ something honest. He just does it through a song he hums along with or dance move he tries to teach them.

Reminded of that, there’s nothing she can do besides sit on his desk chair and cross her legs.

“Alright, fine,” she agrees. Her acquiescence earns her a wide smile and an excited rush of energy as Peter moves behind her.

He grabs the legs of the chair and pulls her, nearly making her fall off. He smiles apologetically when she glares at him.

“Sorry, it’s easier to do when I’m sitting.”

And as the only chair is occupied by her, he drags her closer to his bed. Once there, he kneels on top of the covers and starts running his hands through her multicolored hair.

She hears him let out a sigh of _something._ Relief, that she didn’t reject/stab him? She can’t tell. Peter Quill remains an enigma.

“I’m gonna do a fishtail braid, alright?”

His words mean nothing to her, so she just voices her agreement.

“Very well then.”

With her permission he bisects her hair into two parts and then starts pulling pieces in different directions in some pattern that she cannot see.

It’s an odd request. She’s never known any man who would make such a request. Though again, she’s never met anyone like Peter Quill before. Figuring out his motive isn’t very hard, and Gamora is pretty sure she knows, but she asks anyways.

“Who taught you how to braid?”

“My mom.”

Of course. He must be missing her more than usual. She relaxes, and allows her posture to soften slightly.

“I see.” Normally Gamora would leave it there, but she maybe wants to feel the closeness of the sweet memory Quill is no doubt thinking of at this moment.

“She let you practice on her?”

“Yeah, I was awful at it when I was young.” He snorts. “I remember how it works though, which is why I can still do it, I guess.”

Obviously he’s gotten some _practice_ in with all the other girls he’s lain with. She grits her teeth, and clenches her fist because she isn’t one of them— _won’t_ be one of them. And if he thinks she will, Peter’s going to have to forget about it. She has no problem telling him to take a hike if he tries to turn this into something else which—

Peter cuts off her tumultuous thoughts though. It seems that he hasn’t noticed her body language, caught up in a memory she can’t see, but as he speaks, can almost feel.

“She had the prettiest blonde hair. It was long too. Down to her back. I used to watch my mom do her hair in the mornings.”

Gamora relaxes again. She hears the familiar twang that Peter doesn’t seem to realize seeps into his voice whenever he speaks about his mother. It sounds smoother, with a different cadence to how he normally talks.

His hands pause for a moment and he picks up again, voice a little higher and back to its normal style.

“Of course she lost all her hair near the end of it, but that’s life for you.”

He braids faster.

Gamora furrows her brow. “Why did she shave her head?”

“Well, I told you she died of a disease, right?”

Gamora nods lightly, aware of all her hair is well entangled in his hands.

“One of the side effects of the treatment was that she lost her hair. Didn’t matter in the end. She died anyway.”

Ah. So this has even more meaning than she thought. His request is suddenly filled with much _more._ She’s sorry for his loss, but can’t find the right words anywhere in her mind to express herself. Peter, it seems, has already moved past the topic.

“Do you have a hair tie?” he asks, and it’s then Gamora realizes he’s finished. She digs around in her pockets before finding a small black elastic and hands it off to him. With a few quick tugs, he’s finally finished. She pulls the edge of her ‘fish tail’ braid over her shoulder and looks at it curiously.

Strands of her hair are lines up in near horizontal rows that trail all the way to the end. The black fades smoothly into the red ends like watercolors, and it makes her smile. She stands and turns to face him.

“Thank you,” she says. But it seems like Peter is already happy, because there’s such a contented expression on his face.

His eyes are lit with an unusually quiet _something_ that she can’t pin down, and his lips have stopped grinning, but she can still tell he’s smiling somehow. In fact it’s got to be the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. Even after that time he’d left the whorehouse the first week they’d known each other. At the time, something in his gaze was still tense. Obviously when he realized Gamora knew where he’d been his uncomfortable expression doubled. He hadn’t visited one since, and has never brought anyone aboard, which she appreciates just for his consideration. After all, it isn’t _his_ ship anymore. _The Milano_ belongs to all of them.

Still his current happy expression puzzles him.

It could just be from sharing his memories about his mother, but it feels like more to Gamora in a way she can’t quantify.

Peter looks _joyus._ She wonders what it is that has him so incredibly cheery, but he soon cuts her question off as he coughs and looks to the side.

“Er, thanks.” His words are uncharacteristically awkward.

“Why are you thanking me?” she asks, genuinely curious. He seems to notice his poor word choice too, and he immediately pulls up a façade, one quite transparent to her.

“For not stabbing me for pulling your hair.” He grins, but it’s much emptier than the one he had before and that doesn’t sit well in her stomach at all.

“Why were you so happy to braid my hair?” she wonders aloud.

He shrugs. “Just wanted to share this with you.”

And he’s lying. Obviously he’s lying. But it isn’t worth calling him on it. Because he’s lying to cover up some emotion he doesn’t feel like addressing, and she understands that, though hates to see her comrade doing it.

Peter leaves the chamber first hastily tossing some parting words over his shoulder as he leaves. “See you at dinner.”

With that she’s alone in his room, feeling incredibly bemused. Solitary, she allows herself to sit on his bed in a slight slump.

Gamora wasn’t expecting this when he asked her into his room. No, she was expecting something much more predictable. Perhaps it was a trick to get her closer to him, but the theory is empty in the face of the memory of his joy.

She’ll never understand him . . .

And suddenly she’s exhausted.

Lifting her legs she lies on her side, face half buried in his covers. His bed smells nice. Not bad like she expected, because Peter occasionally does smell rancid after a big fight, not that it bothers her too much. No, it smells like how he does after showering, clean with a slightly spiced scent he once claimed that women liked.

She snorts. That was such a masculine comment for him to make. It was just a reminder that Peter was a man. And like every other man, he likes sex.

Still, for a moment, it seemed like he enjoying touching her hair more than having sex, but that was a silly thought, wasn’t it?

 

+

 

Peter knows he has to leave when he realizes how badly he wants to stay. He’s dangerously close to starting something intimate that Gamora will no doubt interpret as him coming on to her. With a rushed goodbye, Peter hightails it out of his room, mentally berating himself the whole time. The Terran retreats to the cargo hull, which was rarely occupied by anyone, sans when they inventory whatever swag their latest mission provided. He starts pacing among the spread of cargo containers, trying to settle his mind.

He thought he could pull of casual, but when it comes down to it, he really just can’t. And Gamora, the woman unlike any other, could sense it. Of course she could.

He started out so well, so nonchalant with a strictly-friend-thing-ish vibe, but the feel of her hair beneath his hands and the quiet sound of her breathing. It’s been so long since he’s been close to someone . . . The intimacy was maddening. He wanted to ask her to stay, to just sit with him for a while. Not only would he look like a complete idiot asking something like that, she’d also take it differently than he intended. Gamora would either punch him or take him to bed, and neither option is very good. So asking for her to stay with him is risky and just a bad idea all around. Still . . .

He _can’t help it._ He wants that. To spend time with nonphysical intimacy. Being close to her, playing with her hair, moving with a touch that held no implications or innuendos— that’s all he really wants. But the rest of the world doesn’t operate like he does.

Asking women to do something further, getting closer, holding hands, all of that just leads to something more, and Peter doesn’t _want_ more.

Sending the wrong signals is something he’s extremely aware of. He doesn’t call himself smoking hot, but it’s been said about him. Though he’s a little proud of his fantastic shape, the implications are pretty clear to Peter. If he’s talking to an attractive girl, _clearly_ he wants to get laid _._ It’s— frustrating.

Gamora is awesome, but right now he’s worried he’s sent the wrong signals unwittingly, so he intends to avoid her for the next while if possible.

The Terran honestly has no idea what he’ll do if Gamora comes onto him. If he’s honest with himself, he’ll probably just go along with it. And he feels a little nauseas.

With a long sigh Peter exists the cargo area and walks back towards the cockpit to talk with the wonderfully predictable Drax.

-

Peter has to admit that despite the general awkwardness, he doesn’t regret what he did.

It’s nice seeing her walking around the ship for the rest of the day, fishtail braid clearly on display. She must have liked it then, right? He feels a little warmer after the fact. The braid earned curious questions from both Rocket and Drax who surprise Peter with their attentiveness. Gamora casually mentions that Peter offered to show her, and though Rocket snickers and comments,

_“That’s pretty girly, Quill.”_

Peter’s actions also earn him a warm,

“ _I am Groot,”_

—which ends the conversation on a sweet note. Through sheer skill and determination, Peter manages to avoid eye-contact with Gamora for the majority of the night all while staring at her. Gamora ends up showering the next day, so of course the braid is undone, but it was nice while it lasted.

Things settle back to a relative level of normal between Peter and Gamora. Neither mention the braiding incident, (as he’s come to think of it as,) and he isn’t inclined to crack it back open any time soon. A few weeks pass until the silence on the subject is broken by Gamora, strangely enough.

Peter was on watch, idly keeping an eye out on the different screens in the cockpit. Rocket and little potted Groot both bade goodnight with a typical, “ _Keep quiet”_ from Rocket and a kind “ _I am Groot.”_ from the aforementioned plant. Drax had just risen and exited with a single “ _Goodbye,”_ leaving he and Gamora alone in the cockpit.

Peter was settled in to enjoy another eventless watch shift. The duty was more or less superfluous with the level of security all ships had installed. The alarms would likely catch the intruder or attacking ship sooner than Peter, but all of them did the duty from habits of paranoia all of them shared.

He was yawning when Gamora approached him. He expected for her to say goodnight too but she surprised him when she asked,

“The other day, you said you’d do a ‘fishtail’ braid. Does that mean there are other kinds of braids on Terra?”

And that’s how Peter now finds himself kneeling on his bed behind Gamora again, braiding her hair for the second time. He’s tense because he doesn’t know what to think of it. Sure, it’s possible Gamora just liked the braid and is genuinely curious, but there was something in her eyes when she asked, and it unsettles him. She seems to know something.

Still, who is he to turn down an opportunity for a little intimacy? He admits that his fascination is a little creepy, but he also has to admit that his little braiding session had been one of the most relaxing things he’s done since entering space, but that’s sort of beside the point. Because right now he’s beside Gamora, hands buried in her hair, and chest inches away from her head. She’s unusually relaxed, and he sort of hopes she enjoys this too. He’ll feel much less creepy if she does.

“This is relaxing for you.” She states it. There’s no question about it and he winces slightly, glad she can’t see the guilty look on his face.

“It reminds me of my mother,” he replies.

“I see.”

And no, no she doesn’t. But Peter doesn’t feel inclined to correct her misunderstanding.

They chat about wonderfully inconsequential things while Quill finishes off the French braid. The pattern runs down the length of her head so she runs a hand over it, feeling the ridges. He takes an image recording of it and shows her the back. She smiles again, to Peter’s relief.

After that, it becomes a regular thing.

She asks him now, twice a week, to braid her hair; once during her night shift, and once during his. Eventually he runs out of braids he knows, but she just requests ones he’s already done. Peter likes to think it isn’t her curiosity for Terran things that brings her back to Quill’s room every week, but his company.

He can’t help but drag his braiding out. He just enjoys their little sessions too much. Gamora is pliant beneath his hands, letting him tilt her head any which way with the slightest touch of request. Soon a simple matter of braiding becomes a twenty, thirty minute venture. Something he manages rather impressively. Gamora doesn’t say anything about it, even when neither feels like talking and they spend the time in relative silence. Because he just wants to be _close_ to her. And this suddenly regular opportunity is a godsend.

It’s so cathartic. He imagines that it’s the way his mother used to feel after getting the massages she only treated herself to once or twice a year. She was nearly boneless with calm, and that’s the closest comparison Peter can think of.

His calmness has other benefits besides just feeling amazing. Peter finds he keeps his head much more during battles, his mind is sharper when dealing with Rocket’s continual sarcasm, and overall his mood is incredibly improved.

He gets more confident too, and after one braiding session, he invites her to an impromptu dance lesson. He keeps Awesome Mix Vol 1 in his room stereo so he turns on “Come and Get Your Love,” and extends a hand towards her. She’s hesitant until he ends up relating the entire Epic of Kevin Bacon, and she agrees to learn. He wishes that they could find a copy of _Footloose_ in space, but knows better. Not even The Collector would have such a specific movie from a backwater planet like Earth. Oh well. He thinks he spins a decent yarn.

Like he did on Knowhere, he guides her by the hand through various basic dance steps. The main difference between Knowhere and now, is that he is _extremely_ careful where he puts his hands. Dancing can get really sexual really fast, if he isn’t careful. He steers clear of her waist, only placing his hand on her hip once to demonstrate the swaying movement he likes doing for this song. Aside from that he takes her by the palm to spin her or direct her.

She picks it up faster than he expected considering she’s never danced before in her life. He probably should have known better. Gamora has complete mastery over her body, so she’s soon dancing like a pro. Occasionally he’ll catch the slightest hint of a blush when she does something she’s unused to, but he smiles as encouragingly as he can and she’ll relax again. There’s something . . . nice about being able to relax her.

Dancing isn’t her favorite activity ever, but she does go along with his wheedling once a week or so, only when no one else is there to see it. He starts teaching her pair dances, and no, that has absolutely nothing to do with his desire to hold her a little closer to him.

Despite his rash of luck, (and he has been incredibly lucky) he’s still waiting for Gamora to suddenly put a stop to it, to choose not to get a braid, choose to skip dancing, choose a better way to spend her evening.

But she doesn’t, much to Quill’s reluctant relief.

This carries on for two months, and Peter enjoys every moment of it.

His elation is halted though, on the evening when she changes things

It’s during Gamora’s night shift, when everyone else has gone to bed. Quill will linger for a few more minutes. He’s waiting to see if Gamora will incite a meeting, or remain silent. As she keeps quiet for five minutes, he figures he’ll be turning in tonight. Peter stands and gives a long stretch. He’s just about to leave when she calls out,

“Peter.”

He turns around to see she’s already standing. No further words are needed and he’s more than happy to let her lead the way to his room, barely repressing the skip in his step.

After entering, she surprises him when she doesn’t pull his desk chair over, but rather sits on his bed. He quirks an eyebrow curiously.

“I don’t want a braid today,” she says. Her arm extends in a graceful gesture towards his bed. “Sit,” she invites, and Peter’s mind freezes.

She’s serious, he realizes. _Something_ is going to happen tonight, and all he can think is that he’s not prepared for this. He tries to look back and figure out the moment when she decided he was interested enough to make a move. Was it the dancing? The conversations? The braiding? Peter doesn’t know, but somehow they reached that intimate point when he wasn’t paying attention. He clings to a faint level of hope that she has something innocent planned, like she wants to discuss their latest job, or how _The Milano_ is doing on gas.

There’s something heavy in her gaze that completely unnerves him. He approaches her reluctantly and— Peter can’t help himself— he sits on the other end of the bed, at least two feet away from her.

She wordlessly closes the gap he created, seeming unbothered by the action. They’re thigh to thigh now, and the leather of the pants rub against his dark jeans in a strange contrast.

Gamora turns her torso to look at him, and the heat in her gaze, a blaze compared to the faint flares of heat he’s seen before. Tilting her head she leans forward and presses her lips against his. His mind numbs but he opens his mouth and responds accordingly. Peter’s actions are more mechanical, habitual, than anything else.

She pulls away after a few moments before looking at him searchingly, and something that looks like victory shows in her eyes. Peter finds his stomach feels like it’s been flipped over.

“Peter,” she asks, coyly, coquettishly, like many women before her, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

His mind blanks, horror filling every corner and he finds himself facing a fork in the road, and both paths are covered in brambles. Nausea and disappointment battle for the main emotion, but the latter wins out. The disappointment has nothing to do with Gamora and everything to do with himself, because he should have known better. Women want sex. Gamora is a woman. He should have seen it coming. So why does he feel so upset and betrayed?

“Peter,” she presses, leaning closer to him.

And he feels hollow again.

Because he doesn’t want this. Not with Gamora. Any other woman he’d be fine using them for a few minutes of intimacy, but in the face of her sharp eyes, he finds himself uttering a very soft,

“No.” He clears his throat. “I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned to figure out Gamora's thought process through these past two months. :) Thanks for the comments and kudos!


	3. I Already Know When You Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamora is perceptive and Peter faces denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, Peter's piece is like twice the length of Gamora's. Sorry sweetness. 
> 
> Also  
> \- means change of scene, and this is a small dash.  
> \+ means change of POV

Gamora leaps to her feet.

“I knew it!” Her heart is pounding rapidly with vindication, because she was _right._ After the first time Peter braided her hair, she was incredibly confused as to his motive in offering. It seemed odd for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on. Curious, she decided to press her luck and ask him again a few weeks later to braid her hair again in a different way. It was a few weeks after when she asked and Peter gave her a ‘French’ braid. It was then she received her first clue as to Peter’s motives.

Gamora remembers the event perfectly.

 “What is this one called again?” she asked at the time. Peter was behind her, kneeling on his bed again as he carefully tugged the hair on the top of her crown.

“This? It’s a French braid.”

“What is ‘french?’” The word doesn’t filter through her translator, and saying it leaves a strange taste in her mouth.

“Oh, France is a place on my home world. I guess that’s where the braid was invented or something.” From behind her, she felt Peter shrug.

“Is it nice there?”

He made a sound of disbelief. “I’ve never been to Paris before,” Peter said, smiling. “It was far away from where I lived. Not to mention traveling is expensive on earth. Well, at least it was when I was there.”

“When was that?” Gamora asked, realizing she honestly didn’t know.

“I think I was eight when Yondu and the rest ‘picked’ me up. So over twenty years now.”

Gamora nodded slowly, a little surprised he was taken so early. She thought that maybe he was in his teens, but she knows human traders tend to go for younger ‘stock.’ Suddenly she was incredibly glad he was never sold or eaten, as apparently that was also in contest for a time. If Peter wasn’t here, she had no doubt that she’d still be serving Thanos, and Xandar would have been totally decimated.

She exhaled and leaned her head back a little so that it rest against his chest. The soft pounding of his heart reassured her. She immediately stiffened when she realized what she’d done, but Peter didn’t seem to interpret it any other way besides a search for comfort. He ran a hand through his braided hair again and let out a small hum.

That was her first hint. Peter is contented by contact. Just by touching he exhales, smiles, and there’s nothing tense in his eyes. Never before has she thought that his smiles were strained before, but now she sees the smallest hint of reservation in his gaze when he smiles at other girls. Because she’s seen his true smile now, and the differences are as clear as night and day.

Gamora reluctantly admits that she likes his smile. It makes sense, because he is her valuable friend, but still. His smile makes her smile. The only way to reach the smile is though little moments she can create between the two. Braiding is by far the easiest method.

Bra-id.

Such a silly sounding word and yet it’s begun to take on a meaning different than what she knows it as. Braid means an exhale of relieved breath. Braid means strangely true smiles. Braid means thirty minutes of calm silence on some nights, and idle chatter for the others. She’s startled how much she enjoys their time together.

That’s how she finds herself asking Peter for a braid every time one of them has night watch. Twice a week they retreat to Peter’s room. She pulls a chair over to his bed and he kneels behind her, and her head is inches away from his heart. His hands slowly work through her hair, pulling each strand into different Terran arrangements that are becoming more and more familiar as time stretches on. Sometimes music plays softly, but somehow Awesome Mix Vol. 2 takes on a different tone when it’s playing with just the two of them.

Once, after completing a five strand braid, Peter asks her if she wanted to try dancing. Gamora wants to repeat her reply from before, because she _is_ an assassin, murderess of the dark. She can barely imagine herself dancing. But Peter answers, again, with the tale of Kevin Bacon, and his determination to save his city. She sighs inwardly before agreeing. After fiddling with the stereo, one of Peter’s familiar songs starts playing. She recognizes it from his first mix, having listened to it many times during the three weeks it had taken them to reach Knowhere from the Kyln. Before, she was irritated and curious about the music, but now she only smiles a little at her friend’s quirks. She can’t imagine him without his music. Gamora sways slightly from the left and right with the beat, before looking towards Peter in askance.

The Terran takes her by one hand and starts leading her.

She almost warns Peter to mind where his hands wander, but decided to let her eyes do the talking. He seems to miss her warning because he places one of his hands on her hip, making her mind go blank.

No man has ever touched her so closely without her reacting with violence. Not since— She barely resists the urge to shove him away or push her elbow into his solar plexus.

“Move more like this,” he says, directing her in a faster back and forth motion. Just as the fingers of her unclaimed hand were curling, Peter removed his palm.

“That’s more like it.” He smiled. “You’re already half done!”

She nods wordlessly, bemused when he reclaims one of her hands and guides her through a few steps, and even a couple twirls. Not once does he try touching her anywhere else.

That was her second hint, how easily he let go, and how he never attempted to do anything besides lead her somewhere. And he was happy, smiling the whole time.

She reluctantly admits that maybe she does in fact enjoy their time together. It’s . . . nice to relax, even if dancing is embarrassing at times. Pair dancing is an interesting attempt. Trying to synchronize their movements is slightly challenging, but she finds it’s an entertaining one. The first time Peter tries to show her, it’s a bit of a mess. She’s just gotten used to moving according to the varying rhythmic patterns found on Awesome Mix 1. Doing them in tandem with Peter is laughably bad. Determinedly, she pushes forward and tackles the challenge as she does any other— nothing is unsurmountable.

Justifying it as good training, and a way to keep Peter in a pleasant mood, she takes him up on his offers to dance once a week or so.

It takes Gamora two months to put together the two details she’s learned and reach a truly startling conclusion.

Peter hadn’t taken advantage of this time at all to get closer physically to her. To ‘put moves’ on her, as she’s heard him say once. Not even when, she realizes to her mild horror, she’s been shimmying right in front of him! But nothing’s happened. Their time together really is nonsexual, and she is stunned by the realization. Because Peter is a ladies man. He behaves sexually all the time. Although he’s never brought anyone back to _the Milano,_ he still flirts with women they come across in their missions. So he still has interest in women.

Beyond that, Gamora knows he was once intent on pursuing her. She remembers well their first meeting, and then the time on Knowhere. After that, he never tried, she realizes. Why hasn’t he?

It’s possible that he sees Gamora as a sister figure, but that theory is hard for her to consider seriously, because Peter watches her. There is desire in his eyes, he wants _something_ from her. After all her months observing, she thinks that it might actually be something other than sex. Yet something equally intimate. He seems to just want the occasional contact of another person, to spend time with them.

She entertains that Peter, like she, enjoys things like their braiding sessions over sex. The idea sounds ludicrous, but she’s been watching him a lot, and reached this startling hypothesis she can barely believe.  Gamora knows that there was no way to ask Peter about it because he’d pull up a façade and lie to her, like he does when he’s uncomfortable. So she sets a trap, and is wonderfully vindicated by his whispered words.

 “I knew you didn’t want to have sex with me!” She exclaims.

Peter looks utterly stunned by her exclamation, not to mention pale. He follows his example and rises as well. “What are you talking about? Why the hell did you kiss me?”

And the Terran does sound injured, but frankly, Gamora is still glowing from her victory.

“I wanted to see if you had desire for me.”

“What?! I—“

She cuts him off. “You aren’t homosexual, and I know you still like me.” She looks at him searchingly. “So maybe you’re like me, you don’t want it, do you?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he says with frustration.

“Sex. I’m talking about sex.”

He awkwardly clears his throat. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“Liar,” she brazenly accuses. “I know because I have watched you these past couple of months and not once have you tried to make a move on me. You even said that you don’t want sex with me.”

“Right _now!_ I don’t want it right now, _”_ he clarifies pointedly.

“So later then.”

“Sure,” he says, and behind the argumentative edge in his eyes, she thinks she can see something in his eyes growing duller and duller.

“Tsk. I know you don’t want this, Peter. Don’t lie to me.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he switches the topic. “Do you know how many women I’ve had in my bed? My ship is a freakin’ Jackson Pollok painting!”

Rocket’s comment those months ago finally clicks in her mind. She’s disgusted, unhappy, and still vindicated.

“So why not me? Even if it was just today, why haven’t you taken advantage of me the past months?”

He makes a sound of disbelief. “’Cause you’re my friend, that’s why.”

“You don’t have sex with friends?”

“Just you. I respect you too much.”

The small flare of warmth his words bring is soon smothered by what he says next.

“I’m getting the feeling _you_ really want to have sex with me,” he says.

She bristles and takes an intimidating step towards him.

“Never. I will never have sex with you Peter Quill. Don’t you _dare_ imply otherwise!”

“I understand that, I think you’re the one who’s not on the same page!” He raises his hands defensively.

And Gamora doesn’t exactly get his Terran figure of speech, but she knows what his tone implies. She’s frustrated and sad. Sad because she thought she was right. Thought Peter Quill was different than other men. Thought she’d found someone like her—

“Forget it, Peter,” she says dismissively as she walks away from him and towards his room door.

“Gamora—“

“Forget I even said anything.” She opens the door and steps through without sparing a single look back.

Why did she think Peter would understand?

 

+

 

Peter stares at the door Gamora exited just moments ago before collapsing on his bed, utterly stunned by what just happened. Did she really kiss him and then accuse (and there is no other word) him of not wanting to have sex with her?

“What the hell just happened?” he murmurs aloud dazedly. It feels like and episode of the Twilight Zone, and Peter’s waiting to wake up from this whole strange dream, but minutes pass and he’s still here.

“Fuck.” Whatever it was isn’t good. Gamora all but stormed out of his room. What did he say that upset her so much? He just pointed out how much she was troubled he hadn’t made a move on her yet. He likely hurt her pride or upset some female nuance that he encounters every now and again with women.

He lets out a sigh and runs the entire thing over in his head. The strangest conversation he’s had in a long time. He’s still unsettled because she’s so close to the truth. He _doesn’t_ want sex, but . . .

His head still feels light with anxiety, because that isn’t something he thinks anyone besides himself should know.

While it wasn’t exactly his goal, he sort of likes his status as a degenerate and a ladies’ man. He’s lovable for it, for whatever the reason. The last thing he needs is a reason for Gamora to find him defective. He hates the nervousness he feels, because he just isn’t a nervous guy. Peter is proud that he can appear so incredibly confident. It’s become a quirk of his personality. But Gamora is just an inch away from stripping it off him and seeing what he really looks like.

Why did it have to be so complicated?!

God. He _should_ be able to do this! Why can’t he just suck it up and enjoy sex like everyone else?! He lets out a groan. There’s no reason he shouldn’t like it! Sure his first time was a little rough—

_He couldn’t breath_

_Everything hurt_

_s-_

_t-_

_o-_

_p-_

—Not that he remembers it that well of course. But there was really nothing that special about his first time, and there is just no excuse. He was inept. Incapable. Inferior. So Yondu said when Peter admitted one night after getting very, _very_ drunk he didn’t really enjoy the whole act itself.

And his mentor (father-figure?) drove the message home to him by dragging him to the doctor. If he doesn’t like sex then there was something _wrong_ with him. Peter isn’t broken. Doesn’t have problems and baggage— at least none he brings to his relationships. None he _brought,_ he ought to say now, because since meeting his new friends all his baggage has come spilling out piece by piece to each of them. Gamora holds the most complete picture of his life, having the most pieces. He has mixed feelings on the matter, because there isn’t anything too special to see. He’s a normal, above-average guy, with momentary flares of heroism. What does she see, he wonders?

Apparently, if he’s reading her words right, then she already knows how inept he is. He did try and rebuff it, but Peter doesn’t know if she bought his words or not. Not that it matters. When he implied something happening between the two of them she snapped all the same.

He’s not sure what’s worse; Gamora thinking he doesn’t want to have sex with her, or thinking he does.

Either way it seems he’s fucked their relationship magnificently no matter how he slices it.

Such a fucking weird day.

There’s still something about their conversation that won’t leave him alone. Some detail he’s missing . . . he lets out a groan. His head hurts. With a shake of the head he determines to keep the mater in the back of his head as long as he can.

-

It’s hours later as he’s stirring from an unrestful sleep that it hits him. Peter’s eyes widen against his pillow.

The weirdness Gamora’s claim of ‘You don’t want it’, (it being sex) was only matched by her latter words . . . ‘like me’

Peter shoots straight up, mind racing. Like her? Like her?! Does that mean she also is— Could it be—

Is it even possible?!?!?!?!?! That she . . .

No, that couldn’t happen. The chances of him meeting someone who also doesn’t like sex are so indescribably small. But still, what she said . . .

“’She doesn’t want it,’” he repeats aloud. Was she really talking about sex?

Did she actually understand?

It’s an incredible thought, but it’s possible he was sending out the right signals. She didn’t interpret him as wanting sex, as he feared she did, she interpreted that he didn’t want sex, preferred just spending time together.

Did she . . . really mean that?

Because that would imply that she hung around him because she _enjoys_ his company. If she has no intentions of hitting on him, then— she might actually like spending time with him in the same way he does. His mind is racing with possibilities and denials all at once, and a headache is steadily building. Too complex, way too fucking complex. And impossible.

‘ _But she said she doesn’t want it,_ ’ one part of his mind argues.

‘ _She could’ve been lying,_ ’ a more skeptical side says.

‘ _You saw her! She wasn’t lying,’_ a very assured voice sounded.

‘ _We barely know her!’_

_‘That’s a lie.’_ Peter hears a very odd mental scoff and he tries to shake the strange argument from his mind because holy shit no.

_‘You know better,’_ is the last thing he hears. Everything in his mind falls blessedly silent.

Fuck. He’s going crazy.

“Quill, I’ve got some breakfast.”

His head snaps towards his door which he completely missed opening, much to his chagrin. Rocket is standing in the entrance, eyeing him suspiciously.

“You okay, man?”

“Me? Oh yeah. Totally fine. I’m fan-freaking-tastic.”

“ . . . Right.” Rocket, wonderful Rocket, turns and leaves with a dismissive wave, the door sliding shut behind him. Peter is incredibly glad that Rocket was the one to find him. He’s the most likely to leave the little matters alone. Drax would probably have tried to figure out and help, which is about the last thing he needs at the moment. Gamora would—

Shit. Peter almost forgot about her in his almost mental breakdown. He has to face her today after their spat. Great.

Reluctantly he gets out of bed and pulls out a fresh set of clothes. As he changes, her goes over possible scenarios, and replies to whatever she might say. Completely unprepared, he leaves his room and heads to their kitchen area. Gamora, Drax, and Rocket are already seated at their small wooden table. Potted-Groot sits on the center, reminding Peter of the tacky centerpieces he occasionally saw at his aunt’s house. Groot is a massive improvement to those.

“Do you plan to stand there forever?” Rocket asks. Peter quickly takes one of the two empty seat at the table, relieved to find it’s between Rocket and Drax. That does leave him sitting across from Gamora, but he’s trying to be positive.

The green-skinned warrior is staring intently at her breakfast of black skinned fruit she enjoys. She doesn’t look up even when Peter takes a seat across from her.

“So . . .” Rocket begins, glancing between the two of them with knowing eyes that Peter _really_ hates. “We’re making that drop in Xandar right now. How do you want to get there?”

The normalcy is incredibly welcome.

“I say we go by Knowhere,” Peter puts forth.

“I disagree,” Gamora says, finally raising her eyes. She turns to rocket though. “We should go through Vanaheim.”

“And deal with the Vikings? No thanks.” Peter would rather pass on that one.

“What are Vikings?” Rocket asks. Peter opens his mouth, but Rocket waves a hand, “Never mind, it’s a Terran thing. He’s got a point though.”

“I’d rather face Asgardian’s than Kree pilots, who are running around Knowhere, just waiting to get their hands on us,” Gamora argues.

“But we can drop by Tivan and see if he has some work. We don’t have anything lined up and it’s on the way. I mean we’ll probably end up going there after anyways,” Peter points out, and he’s barely resisting an incredulous laugh at how Gamora is arguing with him all while staring at Rocket.

“Kree. Pilots.” She states firmly.

“Vikings. Units.”

“I think I would like to go by Vanaheim,” Drax says, joining the conversation for the first time. “I hear their warriors are quite formidable.”

“I’d rather avoid the Kree, sorry Quill,” Rocket says, sounding incredibly unapologetic.

“Vikings it is then,” Peter says, accepting his loss. “I’ll plot a course.”

“I’ll do it,” Gamora says, standing suddenly. She starts walking away, and okay, it’s a little bit too much for him. She didn’t look at him even once.

He rises to follow her before looking at his still-full plate. He has no appetite by this point . . .

Drax clears his throat. “I shall do the dishes.”

Can everyone sense there’s something up with him and Gamora? Still, he gives Drax a grateful nod and follows after the green-skinned warrior. He finds her standing in front of the Navigational screen, steadily entering strings of numbers to direct their coordinates.

“Gamora,” Peter says, crossing the room.

“I’m not really in the mood to talk, Peter.”

“C’mon, at least look at me,” he wheedles.

She snaps around, and _finally_ meets his gaze, and God he wishes she didn’t.

Because he finds she’s locked herself up tight behind her eyes. He can’t see her anymore.

Peter sighs inwardly. This is how it’s going to be, huh? Well he’s alright with ignoring what happened. He just hopes her eyes will soften with time.

“There? Are you pleased now?” she asks. Her even tone completely belies the true issue neither of them are addressing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs before heading towards the front of the ship. Maybe Peter will take _The Milano_ off of auto and manually navigate her for a bit. Zipping around in space seems like the best way to avoid the mounting headache in his head and the loss in his chest.

-

“Quill,” Rocket says from his seat at the table. Peter’s been dully watching him reassemble various scrap pieces into bombs for the better part of an hour now. When he first discovered Rocket’s propensity to create weapons of mass destruction all those months ago, Peter had set guidelines. One of which was no bombs on the kitchen table. Nowadays he really doesn’t mind any more. Ah, how far they’ve come.

“Quill,” Rocket snaps his small paw in front of Peter’s face, and the Terran blinks before facing his friend.

“Yeah?”

“Go to bed,” Rocket says. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” Peter rolls his eyes. “And no, I won’t. It’s my turn to keep a lookout tonight.”

“I’ll take your shift, just go the fuck to sleep already.”

“Really, it’s fine. I’m used to being awake at this time.” Even if Peter went to his bed, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Since his and Gamora’s little meetings have stopped he’s found sleep to be a more and more elusive creature to catch. Especially during Gamora’s shifts. He finds he sits awake, staring at the metal ceiling for hours. Trying to sleep after his own shift isn’t much better. Peter’s more or less given up on getting a decent night’s sleep by this point, and he knows it shows, but there isn’t anything he can do about that.

“Well if you won’t sleep, then go fix whatever’s going on with you and Gamora. This is messed up, even for you,” Rocket says, and there’s no need to clarify.

And it is. It really is. He and Gamora have taken dysfunctional to a whole new messed up level. Because they’re just so fucking _civil_ to each other. They smile (tighter, less genuine), banter (perfunctory, rote), and work together (like associates, not _partners_ ), and it’s eating Peter alive. Some days he just wants to rip the Navigator out of the floor and throw it out the Milano window, depressurization of the cabin be damned.

More than just wishing he could braid her hair again, he misses just talking with her, eating casually, smiling genuinely. Just— fuck it all. He misses _her._

“I know,” Peter groans before muttering, “Why is it that everyone knows my business? What ever happened to privacy?”

Rocket snorts. “You want privacy? Get a bigger ship. With thicker walls. I really don’t want to hear whatever you and Gamora do get up to.”

“Get rid of the Milano? Hell no. And really Rocket?” Peter asks, exasperated. The irony of the implication only reminds him of his situation with Gamora.

“What, I was talking about yelling,” Rocket explains, failing to hide his snickers.

“Whatever,” Peter looks towards the former assassin’s room and takes a fortifying breath.

“Good luck,” Rocket says. “Try not to lose your balls.”

With a final mild glare towards his furry friend, Peter heads towards Gamora’s room. After a second of hesitation he knocks on the door.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“Uh, it’s me, Peter.”

He’s expecting her to rebuff him, but the door slides open. She stands in the entrance way, looking as tired as Peter feels. He likes to think that maybe she misses their little meetings, but doesn’t put too much stock in the thought.

Gamora walks into her room, making a short gesture with her hands for him to follow, which he quickly does. The door silently slides shut behind him and it’s just her, him, and the elephant in the room now.

“What do you want, Peter?” she questions wearily.

“I just—“ Peter pauses. What the hell does he want? The easy answer? Does he want to apologize so they can out the matter behind them? Yes, that’s the wisest choice. He’ll maybe be able to salvage a lot of their relationship, and sure it will never be the same again— and yes, he has thoroughly fucked up one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. Damage control seems like the only logical option.

If he does that, he can wave any chance of hanging out with her, braiding her hair, just touching her goodbye, and he suddenly can’t stand the thought. To move forward in a different direction would imply a certain level of honesty Peter doesn’t know if he’s capable of. But between two hard places he decides to say fuck it all.

What finally tumbles out of his mouth is “What did you mean?”

“When?” Gamora asks, as if she doesn’t already know.

“The other day, the last time we had an actual conversation.”

“I—“ she falters and her eyes drift towards the wall. “I miscalculated. I made a wrong assumption that you didn’t, well, that you wanted nothing. I recognize what a faulty conclusion that was now,” she finally, honestly admits. And her voice is painfully bitter, and Peter finally sees the pain she’s been hiding. She showed something about herself and he completely looked it over, dismissed it.

“What do you want?” he asks, and he knows she can’t understand how much this question means to him.

“Nothing. I want nothing.” She admits, eyes hard. She probably thinks Peter’s deciding whether to make a move on her and he barely resists a snort, but her words strike him hard.

“We’re talking about sex again?” he clarifies, because he’s a little incredulous that she actually doesn’t want him for sex. Sure she might enjoy talking with him, and dancing maybe, but to think that’s the only reason she hangs out with him is astonishing.

“Very astute,” she quips with a tired smile.

Gamora has been incredibly courageous, Peter thinks. Because not only did she tell him what was on her mind, but she admitted the truth to him. Because she _is_ like him, and he thinks maybe she could feel as defective as he does, because people like sex. And Peter doesn’t. And maybe Gamora doesn’t either. He could never admit something like that out loud, but perhaps her bravery is contagious, because he clears his throat.

“S-so what if I don’t like sex?” he demands, face coloring in a mix of embarrassment, anger, and shame at finally admitting it. “So what if I just want to hang out and dance and mess with your hair?”

Gamora took a deep, and catches his gaze. She swallows and without breaking eye-contact she says,

“Then I think we have something in common.”

“Really?” And the question shouldn’t be coated in so much disbelief and hope at the same time, but it is.

Gamora just nods before stepping forward. “Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what d'you all think? I tried to capture some of the inadequacy Peter would likely feel at not being able to be like other guys. We also have a hint that there was something not quite right about Peter's first time . . . and that he completely looks it over.
> 
> Is it somewhat realistic? I've got some real mixed feelings on the piece in general. Gah!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Feels? More will come.


End file.
